


Interfering Waves

by Seaward



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mentions of Wraith and Hive Ships, Near Drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seaward/pseuds/Seaward
Summary: Rodney's bad experience with an alien ocean leads to totally unexpected and much better alternatives (and pink furry aliens who like to bodysurf).





	Interfering Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Three completely divergent ideas somehow came together to form this story, and I'm still a little surprised by it. Elayna and Diony were kind enough to read and help polish it. Any remaining mistakes are mine (or we could blame them on the three sneaky ideas that started it all).

As night fell, the gray clouds in the sky reflected indirect sunlight. They mirrored the white tips of the waves crashing along the alien beach. Rodney walked at the edge of still wet sand. The tide had been going out for as long as they'd been trudging back along this uninhabited coastline. Why missions had to involve so much walking even when they flew in on a Jumper via a space Gate, the exhausted scientist would never understand.

He did understand the extra work involved (in the physics sense of force multiplied by distance) to walk through the unconsolidated dry sand farther up the beach where the rest of his team was clustered. In contrast, the damp sand was closer to a rigid body and provided a consistent reaction force, allowing Rodney to push forward with less wasted effort.

Watching the ground in front of him, Rodney carefully avoided the luminous foam washed up by the waves. He didn't want to know what made it smell like overripe bananas. At least the alien ocean still smelled salty, even if it wasn't as clean and warm as the waters around Atlantis. Rodney squinted and shivered in his uniform jacket and TAC vest as a cold wind blew along the beach.

A giant wave came out of nowhere, crashing around his knees. Rodney was knocked over and pulled out to sea by freezing water like a thousand grabbing claws. Upside down, tumbling, arms and legs flopping uselessly.

His first rational moment gave Rodney only a glimpse of his team. They were at least fifty meters up the shore with only bare sand between him and them. As Rodney's feet hit solid ground, he started to push and paddle toward Sheppard who was already running toward him while shouting something Rodney couldn't hear. His ears sloshed with water. His mouth tasted of salt and bad bananas. Even as he struggled forward in his waterlogged uniform, vest, and boots, part of his mind chronicled the damage already done: laptop, tablet, energy bars. Any Earth tech or food wouldn't survive dunking in salt water, let alone whatever contaminated this water. Possibly the Life Signs Detector and Ancient crystals would recover if carefully cleaned and dried. A parallel track in his mind went from contaminated water to worries about ear, eye, sinus, and skin infections.

Only seconds had passed. Rodney had pulled himself a step or two forward and was trying to remember if he had recent cuts on his hands or anywhere else when another wave crashed into him, grinding him through sand and then end over end like a washing machine. This time water pushed hard into his nose and mouth. He tried not to breathe it in and not to let the air in his lungs escape. Now the water hurt on his skin, whether it was rough sandy particles or a prickling as his skin froze, the physicist wasn't sure. But even before he could take his next breath, Rodney started to think about fluid dynamics.

The wave shape would be trochoid, not quite a sine wave, more like a point on a rolling circle. His motion and that of the sand around him was essentially circular at the moment. His velocity would increase with the amplitude of the waves. If a storm was brewing out at sea, waves with larger amplitudes and wavelengths could have clustered, perhaps overlapping and amplifying each other, while a deceptively smaller set of waves had tricked him into feeling safe walking along the edge of damp sand. In that case, Rodney might now be dealing with a whole series of stronger waves. As he calculated options for swimming in to shore verses pushing under the large waves to reach an area of swells where he might survive longer, an immediate and practical part of his brain was testing to see if he could remove his TAC vest or boots.

His hands were already numb. His shoulders and legs ached as if he'd been beaten up. It was sad how well he knew that feeling. And he was weakening fast, either from the cold or from limited oxygen.

At least his brain was working. If he could remove the extra clothing weighing him down, his genius offered the best chance for survival.

During the next break between waves, Rodney couldn't spot his team on the beach behind him but he could see the river delta ahead where they'd descended to the beach from the hidden Jumper. Positioning himself to face the oncoming waves, Rodney forced himself down and under the next one. It worked in that he wasn't tossed around. The water was calmer down there. If he could get far enough out he could swim toward that delta. The waves should be calmer there, although he wasn't sure about the undertow. If nothing else, Sheppard might be able to rescue him—either swimming or with the Jumper—if Rodney could stay alive long enough.

Even as Rodney pushed under another wave, a new list was forming in his brain. In addition to the probable physics of his situation and the damage to himself and items on his person, he checked off the pros and cons if he were to die right then and right there.

Of course, they'd lose his genius, and genius was always needed. But since they'd returned to Pegasus after their extended stay near San Francisco, Rodney—with just a little help from Zelenka and other minions—had perfected the Hive Mining Robots. By combining designs from the latest Earth tech for mining robots with the more advanced material science of the Ancients and Rodney's brilliant research, they were able to produce swarms of small robots, HMRs, that could drill through the space-worthy shell of a Wraith Hive Ship before inserting explosives and venting any surviving Wraith into space. While Rodney would always be useful for running Atlantis and outthinking new threats, for the first time they seemed to be winning in the war against the Wraith. And Rodney knew geniuses who died at their peak were often remembered better than those lived long lives, at some point unable to improve upon their previous innovations.

As another wave crashed down and Rodney barely made it under, he thought of all the people who would be glad to see the last of him. Some of his own staff would rather coast on the discoveries that came easiest to them rather than challenge themselves or bear his wrath when they missed the obvious or didn't think innovatively enough. Many minions hated him because he occasionally made them cry. Many powerful people on Earth hated him because he would not break down or give into their idiotic ideas or demands. His own team probably resented his many complaints and physical limitations. Sheppard spent a lot of time with him off duty, but that might be his idea of pacifying the scientist and looking out for the team. He'd probably want Rodney dead if he knew how Rodney had fallen for him and wanted so much more. Whatever his military biases, Sheppard didn't seem open to the complexity of logistics or emotions involved. It occurred to Rodney that death would mean no more worries about revealing his secret, no more sleepless nights of berating himself about falling for someone so out of his league and probably straight as well.

He lost count of the waves he dove under until one caught him up and tossed him around. This time was more like being in an egg beater than a washing machine. He'd probably have bruises all over if he survived. Honestly, it surprised Rodney that he wasn't choking. Somehow he wasn't suffocating yet. As far as he could tell, his brain was still processing: physics, unavoidable consequences to his person and his belongings, cost benefit analysis of dying now versus later, irrational angst about unresolved sexual tension, comparative analogies about being inside of various appliances.

It seemed like he'd been fighting the alien waves for at least twenty minutes. Rationally he suspected it wasn't that long. But he was cold through and through. His body felt loose like jelly. His previous strategy hadn't worked to get past the breaking waves. Either he wasn't strong enough or his model of the physical forces involved wasn't complete enough. Rescue didn't seem likely at this point. Rodney thought about just giving in, leaving it up to chance and wave patterns whether he washed up on shore or was sucked out to sea.

The next wave pounding and spinning him chucked that notion right out of his head. While he didn't feel the overwhelming urge to live that some people spoke about, he wouldn't give in to being pounded and pushed around by water. If swimming into the waves hadn't worked, he'd reverse strategies and try swimming ashore with them. If he kept low, he might still avoid the worst of the turbulence. He could brace his boots on the seafloor when he could find it. Even if he might fail to escape, he couldn't stop trying. Regardless of what would best ensure his legacy or what other people might prefer, there would always be work Rodney wanted to do, puzzles he wanted to investigate, and arguments he couldn't give up until the bitter end.

The new strategy didn't seem to work any better. If anything, Rodney was tossed around more. Sometimes he couldn't find the sea floor to brace his feet between waves. Keeping himself pointed toward the shore became less certain with every wash of waves and sand into his face. Part of him hoped no one had tried to rescue him. Better for them not to be caught up in these interfering waves with their uncertain contaminants.

 

Trying for shore, there was no clear data to improve his model of whatever weather event he was caught up in. At some point Rodney thought it might be raining, which he knew would wash even more contaminants into the sea. But he was too wet and cold to be sure if there was rain. Sometimes he wasn't even sure when his eyes were open. His hands felt like clubs without fingers and his feet might as well be ice inside his boots. After a while, he wasn't even sure if he was still moving.

#

"McKay, McKay," a voice broke through the stiff aches of his body. Even his head ached. But wasn't cold. Or wet. How long had it been?

"McKay, open your eyes. I can tell you're awake."

Rodney opened his eyes to find Sheppard leaning over him, poking at something next to Rodney's right hand. As soon as Rodney lifted his head to look, he regretted it.

An organic cord, like a cross between a vine and someone's intestine rested with a withered end right by his wrist. A circular mark on the inside of his wrist showed where it had almost certainly been attached. Bits of translucent material surrounded him, brushed to the sides now along with other organic cords.

McKay's breath caught. He flashed back to being cocooned on a Wraith Hive Ship. Trapped and intended as food for the Wraith. The only difference now was that he lay on his back rather than standing bound to a Hive Ship wall. The edges of the pod beneath him rose more like a coffin than in the standing version.

"McKay, breathe. You didn't survive that sneaker wave to hyperventilate now." Sheppard didn't give Rodney time to respond. Not that Rodney was capable of speech at the moment anyway. He couldn't recall what he'd been told about sneaker waves—or was it sleeper waves?—while they were stuck outside San Francisco. It wasn't as if he'd ever choose to waste time at a beach, let alone in an ocean.

Without hesitation, Sheppard hefted Rodney's legs up and over the side of the creepy coffin-shaped container. Then Sheppard's arms swept under Rodney's, reached all the way around to meet behind his back. Like an embrace. A hug. Sheppard was practically hugging Rodney as he pulled him to sit on the sand beside a cocoon like a cast off food storage chamber from a Wraith Hive.

The sand broke Rodney's panic. It was warm and accommodating beneath Rodney's dry but gritty uniform. Memories of being pummeled by waves, of being soaked and freezing, were the last things Rodney remembered before waking up warm and dry in some organic pod coffin on an alien beach. If his clothing hadn't been gritty and stiff from dried ocean water and sand, the scientist might have had to reconsider his lack of belief in an afterlife.

"What are you doing here?" Rodney asked, realizing that was the part he could most likely solve right away.

"Would you believe this was all part of an elaborate plan to rescue you?" Sheppard smiled as he sat down on the sand beside Rodney and actually leaned against the alien coffin-structure he'd pulled Rodney out of. "I dove in to rescue you, got tangled in seaweed or something, and woke up in another one of these boats just before you did." He waved down the beach to where a similar organic structure rested in the sun.

"Boats? These are nothing like boats. They are alien pod/cocoon/coffin things that strongly resemble food storage on a Hive Ship."

Sheppard pointed to tracks along the beach where the two pods appeared to have washed ashore, leaving deep gouges in the beach that were only partially washed away by the receding tide. "Life rafts? Rescue pods? Maybe the seaweed that caught me was some kind of underwater Venus flytrap."

Rodney rubbed his temples, hating to admit that Sheppard's crazy ideas made as much sense as anything he could propose. As he inspected his very sensitive skin for any signs of rash or infection from the ocean or the strange organic cords he asked, "What about Teyla and Ronon? Neither of them has the gene to fly the Jumper through a space Gate."

"Neither of them had lifeguard training or knew about sneaker waves either. I don't think they've spent much time on planets with oceans." Sheppard's jaw tightened as he pushed himself to sit more upright. "We were almost due to check in. I figured Atlantis would open the Gate to radio them or send help when we were overdue."

"You’re an idiot."

"You're alive. You're welcome."

Rodney wanted to berate Sheppard for risking his own life, again, rather than going for the Jumper. But the fact that he was alive, that they were both alive, took over Rodney's mental processing like a computer virus. He could have died. He might not have lived to insult Sheppard again. He might not have lived to study the pods that, one way or another, probably saved their lives. He might not have lived to find a way to save both himself and Sheppard in the future. "Huh, I think I'm actually glad to be alive."

"You think so?"

Rodney was saved from answering by a distracting flash of pink further down the beach.

Sheppard sprang to his feet and took three steps toward the neon pink seal-shaped creature bobbing on the far away waves before Rodney even moved. Then Rodney was pawing at the sand frantically to stand. The pictures in his mind showed Sheppard rushing to the sea and being swallowed up. Even as his inner physicist reported on the lesser amplitude and wavelength of the current wave patterns, he caught up and fisted his hands to keep from grabbing Sheppard's shirt to hold him back.

"Oh, wow, there's dozens of them. And look at their surf etiquette." Sheppard smiled as he started forward again.

Sure enough, there were dozens of pink creatures. On closer inspections, they looked less seal-like and more human, at least around their necks and heads. A few other shapes, less distinctive in color but more humanoid in shape and movements, either rode in to shore on the current wave or waited farther out for their turn. A couple of the larger shapes looked fully human, but the pink ones moved like aquatic mammals, paddling with short, flat limbs. Out at sea they floated on their backs or with only their long noses and eyes above the surface. Riding in, on either backs or bellies, they steered with what appeared to be flippers or webbed feet.

Rodney couldn't help but follow Sheppard as he moved closer. Luckily, they were mostly tracking along the beach without getting much closer to the water. Rodney took slow deliberate breaths placing his feet carefully in the sand. He kept a close eye on the ocean, not letting his fear show. As long as neither he nor Sheppard went near the water—Rodney remember being grabbed by a giant wave that should never have been that high on the beach. The sudden yank. The cold.

He couldn't breathe. One of his fisted hands snapped out to grab Sheppard's sleeve. It was the only way to keep them both safe.

"McKay, what?" Sheppard turned with an annoyed frown but froze when he saw Rodney's face. The military man glanced around, assessing threats. Then slowly he reached his free arm out to grasp Rodney's shoulder. "Breathe, McKay. The sand up here has plants growing out of it. No wave is going to get you here."

Rodney closed his eyes in humiliation, even as the warmth of Sheppard's hand on his shoulder became his anchor. He counted to five breathing in. This much he could manage. Another count of five. Slow breaths, in and out.

He wished Sheppard wasn't seeing this. Or that he was the type to give more hugs.

Sheppard was talking again, his tone calm but stiff. "The locals are bodysurfing. I may not know bodysurfing etiquette as well as board surfing on Earth, but they're not behaving like animals. And I haven't seen anyone drop in or run over someone else yet. That means these folks ride the waves enough to know better. They're familiar with local conditions and aren't having any trouble predicting the breaks. We aren't going to see a sneaker wave like the one that caught you. I'm not sure what's going on here, since the planet we were exploring appeared to be uninhabited, but I don't think we're in any immediate danger."

Breathing finally under control, Rodney said, "Life Signs Detector," He pawed at the front pocket of his vest where he kept it. "Ancient technology survived ocean flooding before." But when he reached into his TAC vest pocket, all he found was sand.

Sheppard patted his shoulder. "It's okay, buddy. Let's move into the shade. I'll study the locals from there, and you can check the rest of your pockets."

Only then did Rodney notice his teammate's lack of TAC vest and boots. Sheppard was walking around in socks. "What happened to your vest and weapons? If you left them by the pods and there are other people here—"

"I threw all that to Ronon before I went after you. You know, I wasn't kidding about having a plan and lifeguard training."

By then they'd reached the shade of some large rocks and bushes. Rodney held his vest upside down as he opened each pocket. Emptying the sand would make the vest lighter, but he had lost almost everything out of his pockets, despite their Velcro closures. It didn't seem even the roughest waves should empty pockets that effectively.

"What do you think the not pink bodysurfers look like?" Sheppard asked.

Rodney shifted his attention to where a woman in something like a bustier was pulling herself upright from the last foamy remains of a wave. "She dresses like your favorite space pirate. Planning to make a move one her, Colonel Kirk?"

"I'm not talking about the couple that look like Travelers." Sheppard shook his head. "Look closer at the others."

The moment Rodney picked out the greenish gray forms among the grayish blue waves he couldn't help saying, "I told you so. Those things we woke up in were too much like Wraith food storage. Now we've got Wraith bodysurfing, or whatever you call it, with bright pink selkies and a couple of Travelers."

"We need a closer look. Those Wraith seem more sociable than ours." He was squinting and sniffing the air.

Rodney sniffed but only smelled beach with a hint of rotten bananas. His stomach growled, but he knew they didn't have any food. "And the Travelers?"

"I don't think they'd collaborate with Wraith."

"You think it's just a shared vacation spot?" Rodney rolled his eyes as he slid his vest back on, remembering the Life Signs Detector he'd originally wanted to check. "What if it's not real? What if this is like the mist planet fantasies or Asuran mind probes?"

"Well," Sheppard drew the simple word out for far too long, "While I might have surfing fantasies, they're not likely to include Wraith or aquatic pink creatures."

Rodney figured his fantasies would never again include beaches or oceans, not that they had in the past. Neither were welcoming places for sensitive skin or electronics. "Just Traveler women in bustiers?"

"No matter how many Kirk jokes you tell, they won't make it so." Sheppard bumped a shoulder against Rodney's.

"Did you just counter my Kirk joke with a Piccard joke?"

Sheppard's only answer was a relaxed smile.

Rodney pushed down on what that smile made him want. This definitely wasn't any sort of wish fulfillment generated by his mind, not with the waves and all. He snapped out, "No one would believe what a closet geek you are."

Sheppard's smile faded at the change in tone, and he sat up straighter. "It's hard to rule out all kinds of mental tampering or illusions when neither of us can explain how we ended up here. But collecting intel is a solid strategy whether this is real or not." Sheppard stood and offered Rodney a hand. They made their way along the beach using what cover the large rocks and bushes offered. It wasn't much, but no one on the beach seemed to notice them.

After a while they heard singing and followed the voices inland along the path of a stream. It led them to a structure resembling a Greek open-air theatre, where men and women in robes stood in clusters. Rodney quickly deduced they were sorted by the parts they were singing, although that didn't seem related to their vocal range or skill, as far as he could tell. Overall, the people mattered little to him compared to the behemoth of an instrument accompanying them. The stops and keys were laid out almost exactly like an organ on Earth, but the pipes all led to small bell-shaped openings. More disturbingly, the entire object appeared to have grown above the stream like a complicated, mutated version of the coffin he'd awakened in. The appearance turned his stomach, but the sounds it produced were as complex as the best trained human voices for timbre, tone, and an additional high frequency resonance. Slowly his eyes closed as he was caught in the complexities of the score and the actual music produced.

"Do they look like Ancients to you?" Sheppard's whisper barely registered in Rodney's music saturated brain, but it was Sheppard.

Rodney opened his eyes and was almost surprised to see people singing along with the music he'd been appreciating. Their clothing did look surprisingly like the ornate and pretentious robes Ancients seemed to favor in holograms and carvings. They didn't exactly match, but were all basically white and ankle length. Many included an outer robe that was open in the front to show ornate borders or lining. "That would explain their arrogance in singing with an instrument that far surpasses their musical abilities."

Eyes back on the organ, Rodney noticed the woman playing it wore simple white pants and a top, not unlike scrubs or pajamas. Given the stretch of the keys and the pedals, that only made sense. But in Rodney's mind it made the choir look even less sensible or useful.

"Interesting how none of these people were bodysurfing and none of those groups are included here," Sheppard said. "Let's keep looking and see if we can find someone alone to question."

As Rodney followed, his mind tracked the music until they were completely out of earshot. It was only then that they spotted a gangly boy up in a tree, collecting some kind of nuts. His pajama style clothing was the color of sand, rather than pure white, but looked surprisingly clean given his work in the tree.

Sheppard called out, "Hello up there."

The boy showed no sign of hearing.

Sheppard tried again. The boy started climbing down, but without any reply or even a glance in their direction.

"Stay in the bushes," Sheppard whispered, before he went to stand a few feet in front of where the boy landed at the base of the tree. "Hi, my name's John Sheppard. I'm new here."

The boy resettled the bag of nuts on his back and walked forward, almost brushing Sheppard's shoulder, but completely ignoring him. In a most unmilitary way, the Colonel scurried to step directly in front of the boy. "Please, I only want a moment."

The boy with the nuts actually bumped into Sheppard this time. The collision was enough to send the kid stumbling to one side. He looked at the ground where Sheppard still stood, as if looking for and failing to find whatever had tripped him.

Sheppard reached out to brace the boy by both shoulders. "I don't know what's happening."

The boy patted where Sheppard's hands were touching him. "Is someone there? You don't seem to think much, but you feel pretty solid. If you're new, it might get better. If you're old, you might be fading. If you want nuts, you seem solid enough to pick your own. Can I go now?"

The boy twisted violently, and Sheppard let go. "You really can't hear me?"

It was obvious that the kid couldn't as he moved away with his hands held a few inches in front of him until he reached a path that seemed to lead down to the beach.

"At least he told us something." Sheppard moved to lean against the tree.

"Nothing useful. Are you going to collect some nuts for us?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. What if you're allergic? And aren't there a bunch of stories where people are trapped someplace after eating the food there?"

A violent shake of his head reminded Rodney how sore his neck and shoulders were. "I hope you're talking about SGC reports and not myths about fairyland or the underworld."

Sheppard shrugged and slid his hands into his pants pockets.

"You know I have hypoglycemia. I could die from not eating."

"You don't look shaky or sweaty. Notice any heart palpitations or fatigue?"

"No, but I may have been distracted." Rodney paced across the clearing as Sheppard stayed slouched against the tree. "After struggling in the ocean and the amount of time we've been here, I could be confused or my mental processes could be impaired. Of course, then I probably wouldn't be aware enough to notice that I'm not. My lack of symptoms could support the mental manipulation theory."

"You sound like yourself, except you may not be complaining as much as usual. Think that could be a symptom?" Sheppard smirked.

"Very funny. Not like I asked you to drown or end up partially present in someone's idea of an afterlife."

"Yeah, I wonder if the part about that getting 'better' if we're new here might mean escape will become more difficult the longer we stay." Sheppard set off walking along the path the boy had taken, and Rodney followed.

They had almost reached the beach—Rodney could hear high pitched voices over the crashing waves—when one of the pink creatures came running up the path on surprisingly agile flippers and plowed right through them.

It literally went through them, as if he and Sheppard were ghosts.

"That was creepy," Sheppard said.

"What if we're fading already?" Rodney asked. "Maybe the Ancient kid was referring to our age at the time we were brought here. Or maybe it's different for different species. Or maybe—"

"Calm down, McKay. You'll think of something with that big brain of yours."

While one traitorous part of Rodney warmed at the compliment, the rest went rigid thinking how Sheppard would have been alone in this if Rodney hadn't lived. But maybe neither of them were actually alive, and if so, that was Rodney's fault, too. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be alive and be expected to save everyone with his genius while denying himself any chance with Sheppard and not being able to get over him and move on to try with someone else.

Even as parts of his thinking splintered off into self-recrimination and alternate reality speculations, part of him considered tests of their current situation and options. He spotted the Ancient boy who'd collided with Sheppard earlier and hurried over to stand in front of him. The kid bounced sideways and said, "Either your telepathic link is solidifying or you're a different one than I ran into before." The boy looked around at all the open space on the beach, and possibly also at the lack of footprints intersecting his. "If that's your idea of an experiment, it's rude to step in front of people. You can get in trouble. You want to know more, just fall asleep and dream. Or go back in the ocean until you're ready to play nice." With that the kid took off, keeping his hands up in front of him again.

Stomping back to Sheppard Rodney said, "You hear that? It's pods or ocean. Why did I bother to stay alive?"

"I'm glad you did." Sheppard threw an arm around Rodney's shoulders as they trudged back up the beach. It didn't seem like a very Sheppard way to act, but Rodney wasn't going to object.

As they made their way back to where they'd started, with Sheppard's arm around his shoulders and people who couldn't see them shouting happily in the surf, Rodney wondered if he'd ever feel normal again. At present, his skin was tingling, and he wanted to relax into Sheppard's arms and never let go. His mind was racing with scenarios postulating he'd died in the waves, everything from Nobel prizes not being award posthumously to having changed the passcode on the lab coffee storage without telling anyone else. Where he'd previously been thinking though possible wave patterns for sneaker waves, he was now considering wave patterns that would allow pink creatures to run right through him, Ancient boys to feel but not see him, and all of them to walk on the same sand but some without leaving footprints.

"What if it's a test to see what we'd want in an afterlife?" Sheppard's question showed how differently his mind operated.

"I'd want my afterlife to come with a clear procedural manual and a textbook on the alternative physics of my new reality."

Sheppard looked around as if half waiting for the books to appear. "Would your procedural manual include what those with you wanted?"

"Why would I care about that?" Rodney squawked as Sheppard used the arm at his shoulder to pull him in face to face. Their noses were only an inch or two apart. His already tingling skin vibrated with the need for more. Sheppard's breath on his face wasn't minty fresh, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was damp and made Rodney think about kissing.

But Sheppard didn't close the distance. Instead he said, "I can't help thinking that you could have died. I could have never seen you again. I could have ended up here alone. Or you could have. I could have ended up on Atlantis without you."

Rodney's heart was beating fast. It was hard to breathe, but he didn't want to risk a panic attack now. He might never have another chance for the experiment he most wanted to run. Shifting forward an inch, he kissed Sheppard.

For a moment, it was awkward. Sheppard wasn't responding as their lips first brushed together. Then Rodney pressed a little closer, moistening his lips, steadying Sheppard's jaw with one hand.

Suddenly John was all in. His tongue flicked out, and Rodney let him lead for a while. John's tongue explored, tracing Rodney's teeth, twining around his tongue. When he started to pull back, Rodney took his own turn to explore, both with tongue and hands. The palm he'd cupped along John's jaw slid to the back of his neck. He fingers skimmed up into John's hair, and it was even softer than Rodney had imagined. Letting his other arm wrap around John's back, Rodney pulled him closer. There was no missing the hard warmth of John's body down below, and Rodney responded. But pressing close and kissing was too good to give up yet.

Then John's hand made it under Rodney's vest and shirts, caressing his side. Rodney heard himself say, "Clothing off, now!"

"You've never done this on sand, have you?" John asked.

"Can't miss another chance," Rodney panted, too desperate to risk stopping.

"What about where I woke up? It's empty now."

Rodney opened eyes he didn't remember closing. Sure enough, they were back beside the pods they'd woken up in. All the creepy vines and membranes were gone, leaving a smooth, empty husk on the beach. "I have a really nice bed back in Atlantis."

"Do you want to wait?" John's hands traced feather light designs on Rodney's ribs as he asked, but it was clear he'd wait if that was what Rodney wanted.

Rodney's brain flashed through scenarios that would have them both dead before reaching Atlantis. It branched through suggestions that this wasn't even real. It might be a dream, hallucination, or fantasy that no one but Rodney would ever remember. It might even be a test run by some alien entity to see what one or both of them would want in an afterlife. Rodney knew he was being stupid, but he didn't care. He wanted this too much to risk missing his chance. "I want this now."

Taking him at his word, John removed Rodney's shirt and TAC vest in one smooth motion. Then John had his own shirt off and pulled him close for another kiss. With their chests bare Rodney's always sensitive nipples tightened at the brush of John's chest hair. Every tiny shift of their bodies sent teasing touches across Rodney's nipples and chest to electrify the rest of his body. Even his lips felt twice as sensitive, their kiss suddenly much more arousing.

His pants pulled unbearably tight. John's touch as he unfastened them had Rodney jerking uncontrollably, even though he desperately wanted to be free.

"You are so hot," John said. "I was never sure, with Katie and Keller. But lately. And today. I wanted to jump you when you first woke up. Let me blow you." With that John was on his knees in the sand. Rodney's pants puddled above his boots as his ass hit the edge of the pod John had woken up in. Rodney couldn't protest a blowjob from John, even if it meant leaning against alien vegetable matter. Rodney's knees refused to support him the moment John licked a broad stripe up his cock.

As John swirled his tongue and alternated short licks with long, Rodney tried to keep his eyes open. He watched the familiar, spikey hair bobbing up and down. His fingers tangled in its cool silkiness, although he kept his touch as light as he could. Then John's lips stretched tight as he sucked Rodney in.

He was moaning. Rodney was. Rodney heard himself. Whatever John's mouth was doing to his cock, it was the best thing ever. His whole body pulsed with the need to come. But John pulled off. He lifted Rodney's feet, one and then the other, out of his pants and boots. Rodney didn't know when the boots had come untied.

He forced his eyes open and saw John shucking his own pants, already barefoot. John in his naked glory was everything Rodney had dreamed about. Curves of muscle over square shoulders and angular hip bones. The erection standing proud in front of him was dark and full. John licked his own hand sloppily and pumped it a few times, watching Rodney's reactions through half-lidded eyes.

"Mine!" was the only actual word Rodney could manage as he licked his own hand and reached to circle John's shaft. His thumb traced the crown, and John's eyes rolled back in his head. Rodney repeated the small motion as he pulled John in so their cocks were side by side.

Whatever arousal had pulsed through Rodney before now magnified and consumed them both. They were rutting against each other, standing propped up on the sand. John was grunting, trying to get his hand between them. When he finally did, it wrapped wet and callused, holding them together with just the right friction. Rodney's balls drew up and he was coming harder and longer than he could ever remember. A few strokes in John was coming, too. His grip loosened, but it was still more than enough with their bodies pressed together. One or the other of them kept thrusting or shifting as the aftershocks bounced between then. At the end they almost fell back into the alien pod, exhausted and messy but ever so satisfied.

#

In his dream, Rodney was a sea monster with dozens of tentacles. At the end of each tentacle was a pod that could open and close.

It was usually easy for Rodney to tell when he was dreaming. Bits of his day were tossed together, like the pod he'd woken up in and the stupid Venus flytrap analogy that John had mentioned. Rodney's mind was quieter in his dreams, but this dream seemed unnaturally quiet, absolutely silent as if no sound had ever existed.

There was touch all over his tentacles, and something more than touch, like a science kit in his skin. He could touch/taste the salinity and acidity of the water around him, and it was very good. He twitched in warmer, less acidic currents. When the water was too shallow or bad algae bloomed, he could fold his pods inward to form a polyhedron. He could generate pod material or a quick drying cocoon that made him almost spherical. While there was nothing to do, his mind drifted in a barely aware hibernation state. When the water was good and high again, he let his pods and tentacle spread out, paddling or pushing against the ocean floor.

One time, his questing tentacles accidentally touched another sea monster like himself. The touch made him jolt. It stung but was exciting, too.

When he calmed down, he realized he'd been handed a little pod, a tiny wrinkly pod from a sea monster who was not him. The pod showed him waking dreams of huge sea monsters like himself. Some had stretched all the way from reef to beach. They used their pods to rescue drowning land monsters. Some were the furry pink kind that lived near him. The stories from the strange, wrinkly pod showed him how to make a dry place with air in a pod used to rescue small land monsters. He could cocoon them to give them food or warmth with the energy he absorbed from sea currents and sunlight.

When land monsters survived the rescue, they could be given a choice to be released on the beach or to join the sea monster's mind forever. The mind would make virtual spaces for all the different monsters to enjoy if they chose to stay, or if their bodies didn't survive long enough to make the choice.

But with the little pod came a warning. There was one kind of land monster that was too dangerous to release. Touch/taste/construction identified those monsters. <Rodney's mind, which was aware as this progressed that it was something like a dream, but not his dream, supplied the name "Ancients" to match the sea monster's sensory data.> There was another land monster created by the Ancients. These monsters were a disease, but the shriveled pod granted immunity along with terrible memories and identifying information. <"Wraith" was the name Rodney's mind supplied.>

Once the Ancients had dropped the Wraith into oceans. When rescued in the pods of helpful sea monsters, the Wraith spread a mind disease. They forced the sea monsters into their almost spherical survival shape and their minds into hibernation mode. Then the Wraith altered the sea monster's structure, making them part machine and flying them through space. In space their tentacles could never float free and their minds could never come out of hibernation mode. It was a terrible fate to be half dead and used as a vehicle for a disease.

The little shriveled pod gave immunity or a cure. Once given such a pod, any sea monster could make more. It was important to always have some to pass to young sea monsters or to a fallen Wraith ship, if one should ever fall near the ocean, so that sea monster could live again. The Wraith could still live in the mind of the sea monster, as could any caught on their own in the ocean. They couldn't be offered release back to the beach, because they were a disease, a hazard to both sea monsters and land monsters. But within the minds of the sea monsters, they could continue forever, as happily as any land monster. In the sea monster's mind they could even live peacefully side by side with Ancients, although they tended to enjoy different activities.

A virtual slideshow of places and pastimes formed around Rodney. He could study the organ the sea monster had grown. He could share more touch with the other land monster he'd been touching so much. <"John" was the name Rodney's mind offered instantly.> He could eat nuts or other food. <"Chocolate"—The imaginary setting around Rodney shifted to a buffet with a chocolate fountain, cake, truffles, and mugs of hot chocolate with pictures in the foam on top. Rodney could smell it, almost touch/taste it, but he remembered John's warning about foods trapping people someplace. He didn't believe that applied to images clearly drawn from his own experience, but it was already hard enough to turn down an eternal fantasy life offering all the best chocolate and unlimited sex with John.>

Suddenly Rodney's thoughts grew sharp and dangerous. He'd never really climbed out of his pod. He hadn't really spent the day with John watching bodysurfing aliens and having sex standing up on the beach. That John could have been a figment of Rodney's imagination.

The silent dreamscape shifted again to show him two tentacles, two pods. Both touch/tasted almost the same. One was structured inside like Rodney and one like John. Rodney no sooner wondered if John was confronted with the same choice, freedom or fantasy, than he heard John's voice in his mind, "But Sigmund, I'm more like Rodney than like any Ancient. Let me stay with Rodney, whatever he decides."

"Sigmund?" Rodney asked into the dreamscape, wondering at the name even as he wondered if the real John would possibly risk everything to stay with him.

"Is that you, Rodney?" The voice was perfectly John, but they were still somehow trapped in a silent world.

"Yes, but who are you calling Sigmund?"

"Sigmund the Sea Monster. Didn't you ever see that TV show? One of Sigmund's human friends was even named Johnny. I'm trying to convince our new friend, Sigmund, that I'm not some evil Ancient who goes around lobotomizing his species to turn them into Hive Ships." The voice and references were pure John, but it was only in Rodney's head. The sea monster John had insisted on naming Sigmund probably didn't have a sense of hearing. Just as Rodney didn't have a sense of touch/taste. They were communicating with mental equivalents. That's what the Ancient boy had meant about a telepathic link solidifying and John not thinking as much at him before.

Trying not to use the name Sigmund as he projected his thoughts into the dreamscape, Rodney instead pictured John fighting Wraith and John as a pilot. Then he pictured the Hive Mining Robots (HMRs) but imagined one pushing a small shriveled pod through the outside of a Hive. "Would this cure the Hive? Would the Hive have to be in an ocean first?"

There was a long pause while pictures of Sea Monsters being forced into semi-spherical forms alternated with images of them flying up into space. There was only one memory of a hive landing by an ocean and being cured. The sea monster that passed on the cure had used two tentacles to pry open a crease between original pods to insert the tiny shriveled pod. Then it had taken a while for the Hive to produce a tentacle that reached back to the sea. The whole Hive had started rolling after that. There was a definite firing of engines as it maneuvered, like a ship might use to take off. Rodney wondered how much power it took for a Hive to launch from a planet even as Sigmund—the Sea Monster that Rodney was trying hard not to think of by the silly name John had given it— concluded that the cure ended the hibernation and that might be enough to let the enslaved sea monsters fly themselves to a suitable planet and ocean. If not, they could at least keep the Wraith contained in a dreamscape and end their threat as a disease.

Rodney carefully projected his desire for the sea monster to push his and John's pods as high as possible on the beach by the delta. If the sea monster left them one of the special smaller pods with the cure, and could possibly provide more later, he and John would do their best to rescue those who had been changed into Wraith Hive Ships.

#

"You want to try what?" Woolsey asked during their de-brief back on Atlantis. A pod containing the supposed cure, which was only tiny in the way a Labrador was tiny compared to an elephant, was now lying in the center of their conference table. As it turned out, time passed differently inside the dreamscape, so John and Rodney hadn't even been late for check in when they met up with Ronon and Teyla at the Jumper.

Rodney had shown Woolsey graphs, projections, even an insipid PowerPoint that Zelenka had made. He was ready to scream and pound the table when John leaned forward and rubbed a hand behind his own neck.

"Look, we brokered a deal with Sigmund, a representative of some apparently altruistic sea species. The Ancients enslaved some of his species to make them into Hive Ships. His people came up with a cure and a way to contain the Wraith, which they view as a disease. Sigmund spared Rodney's life because they're all altruistic like that. He let me go so I could redeem some of the harm done to his people by the Ancients. I promised we'd at least try delivering the cure with our mining bots rather than using the bots to kill his enslaved relatives. We kind of have to try." John slouched back in his chair.

Woolsey nodded.

Rodney would never understand why John's negotiation strategies, despite their complete lack of logic or data, succeeded. Rather than waste time trying, he left to reconfigure an HMR to deliver the shriveled pod that might work as a cure. Sigmund had promised to grow as many as they needed and leave them high on the beach where they were easy for a Jumper to retrieve.

#

A week later, after many days of hard work and nights of great sex, Rodney shut the doors between the cargo area of the Jumper and where he and John sat in the front. He checked the sensors and readouts set up to monitor their first trial at delivering the cure. "Ready when you are."

"Always," John answered smoothly. Then he flew the cloaked Jumper in close to the Hive Ship they were targeting and opened the rear hatch to release the specially reconfigured HMR. As soon as it was out, he closed the Jumper up and repressurized the cargo area as they flew to a safe viewing distance.

"Readings show impact, and it's drilling," Rodney wasn't sure how long it might take to see any effect. The memory he'd been shown of the Hive Ship by the ocean had seemed to last only a few minutes, but he was pretty sure the sea monster's units of time and lifespans were a lot longer than human mental equivalents. "You know, these data recordings don't require me to actually do anything."

"Really?" John drew the word out long and slow. Rodney was already fidgeting with his datapad by the time John concluded. "The cargo hold is repressurized and we're coasting at a safe distance from the Hive. I could set the Jumper on autopilot for a while."

"If you make any jokes about drilling or playing hide the tentacle, I will spam the military servers with cat videos until every team under your command is begging for a team cat."

John relaxed into his chair, draping one arm over the back. "I can think of better things than a cat to have on my lap right now."

"You are so not cool," Rodney complained, even as he went to straddle John's lap in the pilot seat. "How did I ever think you were Captain Kirk?"

"I'm pretty sure Kirk only ever wanted Spock," John let his hands cup Rodney's ass and pull him in closer.

Rodney still shuddered at his touch. "Not that I'm disagreeing, but what's your evidence?"

As John unfastened Rodney's jacket and pulled off his shirt, both hands and fabric rubbed against Rodney's nipples, making him gasp. Rodney was rocking his hips and removing the top half of John's clothes when John finally answered, "While I disagree with most of your comparisons between me and Kirk, I think the appeal of the chief science officer is obvious."

The rant Rodney meant to unleash was lost in a deep kiss. John's tongue thrust and swirled in far too suggestive a manner as his hand made short work of unfastening their pants.

Rodney had just wrapped his hand around both of their newly freed cocks when John said, "Is that a tentacle?"

"You are so doomed to cat videos for a month."

"Um," John's jaw clenched on a moan before he managed to say, "I'm pretty sure that Hive Ship is waving around a giant tentacle."

Rodney only turned around to look because he knew his bare ass up against John's cock while they were both sitting in the pilot seat of the Jumper would drive John nuts. And that's the position he was in when she saw the tentacle. It truly was enormous, waving up and down in front of the hive ship. Somehow it was obvious to Rodney that it was touch/tasting the space around the Hive.

"How is this my life?" Rodney whined.

"You think it will stay put long enough for me to fuck you?" John's hands glided up Rodney's thighs. One rolled his balls as the other loosely fondled his cock.

Rodney wanted to flop his head back on John's shoulder and breathe obscene demands into his ear, but he couldn't take his mind off the tentacle that now rose up from the hive like a periscope. The hive adjusted course, not for the nearest planet, but for the next one out from the proximal sun, currently on the other side of the solar system. "I think we've got time if you can tell this thing to stay cloaked and follow at a distance."

"Oh yes, grab the lube and condom." John was already pressing against the crack of Rodney's ass.

"Pants off," Rodney insisted. "I brought a towel to keep the pilot seat clean."

"I like the way you think."

Rodney gave John a good look at his ass while he bent to remove his pants and gather supplies. "I like what you're going to be thinking about every time you sit in that chair in the future."

#

By the time the Sea Monster previously known as a Hive Ship unfurled its tentacles in its chosen ocean, John and Rodney sagged, happily post-coital, still sharing the pilot chair. "Guess the cure is a success," Rodney said.

"That means a lot more missions like this to deliver it to each and every Hive." John looped his arm around Rodney's waist and rested their heads together.

Rodney stretched and wiggled his ass before replying, "I'm looking forward to it."

 

The End


End file.
